The Joker's Daughter
by Kinkary
Summary: It's hard to be the Joker's daughter. I mean... you try dealing with Harley practically throwing herself all over your dad, and try living up to dad's expectations. A strange little thing I began. Never abandoned.
1. Of Cannibals and Crock Pot Dinners

1So... it was a little rough being the Joker's daughter.

But it could be worse, right? I mean, I was well taken care of, had nice things, and my life was usually very stable.

Unless he was out of Arkham.

Then things got a little hectic.

--

Dad looked ready to kill.

Seriously.

I surreptitiously went to the main sitting room and told the current thugs to step out for a few hours. He wouldn't kill me or Harley, but thugs were a dime a dozen.

And we went through a dozen pretty quickly.

I then set up camp on the worn but comfy sofa with a book and a small throw blanket with Betty Boop on it. A present from Harley.

It didn't take long for the crashing about in his main rooms to stop, and as I made a mental countdown I heard him growling something to Harley.

Three, two, and he burst through the door.

He glared around the room and then his eyes landed on me. "Where'd they go?"

"Sick leave," I said smoothly, turning the page in my book.

His lips twitched, still upset, but ever amused that I did my best to look after the thugs - I was fond of these ones, they'd gotten me some good books in the past two weeks.

Then he sighed dramatically and flopped down beside me on the couch, crossing his arms and leaning into me as he looked over my shoulder.

"You started a new one?" he asked in disbelief. "'What did Miggs say to you? He told me he could smell my cunt. Interesting. I, myself, cannot.'" He scowled. "What the hell are you reading?"

He moved to pluck the book from my hands but I was ready for the move and I tucked the book between my hip and the couch.

"It's a physiological thriller about a man named Hannibal Lecter, a psychologist cannibal who is locked up for life in an asylum, and the woman who comes to interview him whom he opens up to for an unknown reason and helps her solve the case of a serial killer."

As soon as I'd explained I recognized the distinct similarities between my father and Harley and the two main characters of my novel. That was weird. What was that subconscious trigger, where daughters are influenced strongly by their fathers?

He seemed taken aback as well, then snorted and swung his arms around my shoulder. "Finally taking an interest in the life of your dear daddy, huh sweetie-pie?"

I removed his arm and childishly stuck out my tongue.

He raised a brow and I quickly sucked it back in. When I was younger he'd threaten to confiscate my tongue if it went past my lips. Now that I was older I took the threat more seriously.

"This Lector fellow, he escape?"

"Yes. During a move from one prison to another, under full supervision. He was cuffed, but had a needle in his skin, when they cuffed him to bring in food he picked the lock, and attacked a guard, devouring half his face before killed the other man. He escaped the building by wearing the second mans face as a mask."

Joker grinned slightly. "Clever man."

"Sick man."

"Smart."

"Sadistic."

"You speak fondly of him."

I hesitated. "He's the bad guy of the book. It paints the good guys as bureaucratic assholes. Of course I root for him. He's not real."

"And what if he was?"

"I would think him a psychopath who needed to be locked up for good or..." I caught myself. There were too many similarities. "Or to find Starling and have her influence him towards not being homicidal or cannibalistic I suppose."

And, of course, because the universe always had such freaky timing coincidences, Harley strode through the door bearing a tray laden with food.

So she was kind of annoying and... really creepily obsessed with my dad... she could cook like no other!

I set up the T.V. trays and she set bowls on each of them, a small salad and a bowl of...

"Harley... is this that one crock pot chicken thing you make?" I asked.

She grinned.

Thank God for a father who attracted crazy women that could make good crock pot meals.

We watched T.V. as we ate, catching the tail end of an old war documentary before the news started up. There were a few quick bits about weather and traffic and then a special bulletin flashed across the screen.

Oh goodie.

"We've just received this footage taken by a civilian last night at the most recent clash of the infamous caped crusader Batman, and the madman villain, The Joker."

I watched as Batman kicked my dads ass, again. And then I heard one of dad's snide comments and groaned.

"Oh you so need new material."

"And, once again, we have received a strange tip that links the Joker to a young girl, the two seen together in a car heading eastbound on Millin Road."

I groaned again. "I told you we should've taken the car with tinted windows, but no, of course not. Do you want the world to know I'm your daughter?"

When he turned his gaze on me and didn't respond I frowned.

"You promised."

"At the time it was best."

"And still is," I said quickly. "Like the cops would let me stay in school. I'd be taken into custody get put into foster care, and school would be absolute hell!"

"We'll discuss it later." He said sharply in a tone I knew better than to argue with.

But, as Harley cleaned up and I put away the tables and sat back down I bit my lip then spoke, looking up at him.

"Please."

He frowned as he looked down at me.

"I know you're the Joker, but I can't be the Joker's daughter."

That made him smirk slightly. "We'll see."

–

I have no idea where this is going at all.

Seriously.

I just started typing and batman came out...

It was crazy.

I'll finish it, it'll probably just be two chapters, but... huh.

This is very.. Different for me. I'm usually a potter fanfic sort of girl... and I never post my work with OC's... so.. yeah... review and tell me what you think.

It's weird trying to imagine what it would be like to be the Joker's daughter. And how he would respond to a teenage daughter.

What the bloody hell have I started?


	2. Holy Henchwoman, Batman!

1I was still on edge when Harley decided to take me shopping three days later for a Halloween costume. And, okay, looking back, how pathetic was I to believe her? But Halloween was the ultimate candy flow and if you hit up the right places, which I had marked on my map of the city and gone to every year since I was five. What can I say, I had.. Have.. A sweet tooth.

Harley was an exceptionally better driver than my father so I felt no unease as we drove, because the common crowd didn't recognize Harleen Quinzel, ex-student at Arkham Asylum.

"Harley... is it much farther?" I asked, watching the bay as we drove by.

"No, just a few more minutes," thank God Harley was calm and therefore using a voice ten octaves lower than usual. Of course, when we got home and she spotted dad she would leap into her upper range in an instant.

I leaned back and closed my eyes for a moment before Harley spoke again, in a tone I knew to be hesitant and a little unsure, one she usually used on dad when he got royally pissed.

"Um, Miranda, what would be so bad about coming out as Mistah J's kid?"

My eyes shot open and she kept her baby blues directly on the road, not wavering.

"First, he's one of, if not the, most wanted villain in all of Gotham. The police would leapt to the conclusion I had the same wish for chaos he does, and then I would be wanted by the authorities. And how would Batman react? I don't know if he's all good or not, but we don't know how he would act towards his arch-enemies child! And then there's school. I have a four point GPA! I can't throw that away because all of a sudden I can't attend classes without being destroyed by my classmates. I mean, maybe my friends would understand, but they're always worried I have a father that beats me or something and that's why I never invite anyone over!"

Harley gasped. "Mistah J's never laid hand on you? Who are these little punks?" she growled.

I sighed. "They don't know who dad is, and it's a perfectly natural reaction to worry about a friend. Calm down, you're going over seventy."

She paused and then slowed the car to the legal speed and pouted lightly. "Mistah J'd never hurt you. He makes sure you're always taken care of, even when we're in Arkham."

"I know that Harley, and you know that. However, no one would ever believe that."

Hell, I didn't know whether to believe he'd /never/ hurt me. I mean, he went into pretty big rages.

Harley must have seen the doubt in my face because she spoke again, softer this time, "Mistah J would never do something he didn't think was best for you, you know."

I frowned lightly. "Harley, I don't know what to think. Or what he thinks for that matter. I mean... oh I don't know," I trailed off, ending the conversation as we pulled into the parking lot of a costume shop.

Harley beamed as she shut off the engine. "Come on, kid, we've got some shopping to do!"

She literally pulled me along, into the shop, and straight for the main costumes, rummaging through them eagerly.

By the end of the hour I vetoes every costume she'd tried to show me, from a big foam saltshaker suit, to a gorilla costume, to a medieval princess with far to much spandex involved.

And then I saw it. I pulled the bag off the rack and examined the costume in all it's pinstriped glory. It was fantastic. I read the tag. 'Henchwoman.' Dad would get a kick out of that.

"Harley... I'm gonna try this on." I said a bit absently as I headed for the dressing rooms.

"Huh? Oh, okay, I'll keep looking."

I slid out of my jeans and pulled the pants up, fastening them. They rode a little high waisted, an old style that I didn't mind. I then slipped the black shirt on, and frowned a little bit at how tight it was about the bust, but figured I could use my own undershirt. When I slid the light coat over my shoulder and turned to look in the mirror, I saw the perfect old fashioned crime boss grinning back at me in perfectly tailored size fourteen slacks and a jacket that buttoned below and vaguely accentuated the bust.

I was in love.

I had to have it.

Dad might hate it.

That thought made me falter, until I recalled just how tight Harley's outfit was. I mean... he couldn't yell at me if mine showed off my boobs a little, right? Well, he could. But the suit gave me too good of an hourglass figure to care. I had never loved my hips more.

I exited the dressing room and heard a squeal. Wincing, I took that as Harley's approval before she even half tackled me with a hug.

"Oh kid you look great! Talk about a set of curves, you're gonna drive the guys insane!" She grinned and I had to grin back at her enthusiasm. "And wait 'til you see what I found to go with! Close your eyes!" she demanded, and I did as told.

She place something on my head and then forced something in my hand and when I opened my eyes to the mirror I was faced with the most wonderful, fantastic, amazing, glorious hat in the world: a pinstriped fedora. And in my hand was a kick ass walking cane ever, with the head of a snake making up the handle.

I threw my arms around Harley and squeezed. "Harley, I love this! Thank you so much!"

We payed for the costume with money my dad had given Harley for the occasion; I didn't question it's origin, I didn't want to know, what I didn't know didn't hurt me.

Did I mention I loved my new costume?

I held it in my lap on my way home and couldn't stop grinning. When Harley pulled into a drive thru for milkshakes the day couldn't have gotten any better.

But as we neared home I kept feeling more and more self-conscious. What would dad say about it being so fitted? Would he be pissed? Would he want me to take it back?

Harley must have noticed the apprehension on my face because she smiled. "Don't worry kid, he's gonna love it. I promise."

I could only hope she was right as we pulled into the warehouse.

--

A/N

Why the hell am I doing this to myself?

I have no idea.

But I guess we'll see how Joker feels about his daughter's bust being accentuated.

How fucking hilarious will that be?

And in case you can't tell... I love Harley. She's such a sweetie.. Just... totally in love with a homicidal maniac. Poor girl.

And I think dear old Batsy will come in soon. I know Alfred will - I adore Alfred.

So... tell me what you think! Any suggestions, criticism, anything is welcome!

((By the way... she's not a Mary-sue, I think, she's a realistic size fourteen, big hips, big bust, can hardly find anything that ever fits. A problem I've faced in real life many times - so wait a while before accusing me of Mary-suing please))


	3. Didn't Want to See Harley Pinning My Dad

1He was always so impatient. Kind of like a little kid. As soon as we were in the door he was reaching for the bag and Harley actually tackled him to the ground as I took off running to my room. One - I didn't want him to see it before I got it on. Two - I didn't want to se Harley pinning my dad to the ground.

I didn't know if he and Harley had a physical relationship beyond abusive, and I didn't plan on finding out then.

I heard him struggling and her giggle then he cursed and something hit a table, knocking over a lamp and breaking it. Probably Harley as he shoved her away.

When the hell was she gonna learn? He was touchy - but on his terms.

I put on the costume, including the slightly-too-tight top and then donned my fedora and cane. I paused in the mirror and bit my lip before pulling out an old stage make-up kit I used for performances at school like musical theatre. I quickly applied eyeliner and mascara, making my eyes pop, and I added a little bit more to make it more... sinister. Then I looked over my lipstick choices.

Okay. I have a huge weakness for trashy make-up. Sometimes I wonder if it's because of who I grew up with. I think, though, it's because I suck at any make-up but stage make-up. I can't handle subtle browns and skin tones. I. Love. Red.

And so I grabbed the dark red lipstick and applied it with practiced ease to my upper and lower lips, making a sharper edge of it with my thumbnail.

Of course, because I was so intent of my lipstick being perfect I would rub my thumbnail right onto my pants. I stilled, my eyes traveling down to the red smear on my thigh.

"Harley!" I nearly shrieked and I heard her running, along with another person.

I ripped open the door and she squeezed in, and then both of us had to slam our bodies against the door to stop my dad from barging in.

"I'm naked!" I cried and the weight on the other side immediately fell away, making us both almost fall as the door slammed closed. I quickly straightened and gestured to my thigh. "What do I do? Jesus, is it gonna stain!? I'm such an idiot!"

She pursed her lips for a second and then dragged my into my bathroom and sat me down on the toilet seat. I watched as she wet a washrag with some soap and warm water and then she used her thumb and forefinger to pull the fabric taught and with quick movements wiped away the lipstick leaving nothing but a wet spot the size of a dime on my pants.

I sighed in relief and let my shoulders slump.

"Harley, you're the best. I think I almost cried. How'd you get past him?"

She winked. "My babies held him up a bit."

I grinned. Dad hated that the hyenas listened to Harley more than him. I found it all highly amusing.

She stood and placed her hands on her hips, and I suddenly ntoiced she was back in her harlequin outfit. Sometimes I wondered if Harleen Quinzel even existed.

"Well, kid, ready to show Mistah J?"

I fidgeted slightly.

"Harley... he won't be upset because it's fitted will he? I didn't think about it at the store..."

She raised a brow. "Miranda you look great," I smiled in thanks, "of course he's gonna be upset. But then he'll realize how great you look and he'll be fine! Trust me, I know Mistah J."

I hung my head a little. A feeling of resignation washed over me, but she caught my chin and tapped my nose lightly.

"He just has to get used to the idea that you're growing up, kid," her comment made me grin.

"Alright, fine, I can face him, I guess... and I can use the cane if I need too," I mused, testing the strength of it in my hand. I was sure I could swing it and run if need be.

When we poked our heads through the door there was no sign of him, but we could see his study door ajar and the light inside was on. We tiptoed together to the door and then Harley strolled through.

"Well? Where is she? What happened? Didn't it fit!? Did she not like it?" he demanded quickly of Harley.

"Oh, Mistah J! I knew you'd be worried about her!" Harley squealed. "Come on kid," she called to me and then said to Joker, "I'll feed the babies!"

I really didn't want to face him alone while she went out the back to feed her pets, but I pushed through the door and stopped just inside the study. I looked steadfastly everywhere but at him.

And then he surprised me. A lot.

"You look just like your mother."

--

WTF? I know, I feel the same way.

I just thought this would be so non-Joker, the Joker would say it.

Who knows why.

Oh, and don't worry guys, Mistah J's no goodie goodie in this fic, nor is he going soft in any way. He just has a different side he shows to Miranda.

Whether that sides real or not.

I know.

I'm cruel.

Oh, and I also know my chapters are incredibly weird lengths, but as soon as I typed that line, not even intending to keep it, I had to stop the chapter.

(I also know they move kind of quickly... that's most because in my memories I notice certain details, but usually remember the big picture, and well - when writing in first person you kind of have to base a little bit of yourself in the fic's tempo and style.)

And thank you to my three wonderful reviewers Mas, go-stevie-go, and DarknessinShadows - you guys are the only reason I continued the story!


	4. Dad? Joker My Mistake

1"You look just like your mother."

I didn't know why he would say that. I didn't know what it could possibly mean.

He crossed the room and reached up, flipping off my hat. My hair, which I had tucked into the fedora, fell down to my shoulder and he smirked slightly.

"You have her nose, her eyes, even her smile."

"Thank God," I muttered and he grinned, and I found myself smiling too.

"I suggest, if you don't want them to be hyena chow, you'd better make sure I never see you with some boy."

I raised a brow. His threat was serious, but more than that, he was... acting like a dad. And he was as uncomfortable with it as I was.

So I hit his foot with my snake cane and grabbed my hat.

"If Harley gets to hang out with homicidal wack jobs, and you are a homicidal wack job, no one gets to school me about boys, got it old man?" I snapped, and ducked out of his reach when he tried to grab at my hat again.

And suddenly the Joker was back. As soon as Harley came back in he was already grabbing his purple hat.

"Come on girls, lets hit the town to celebrate. Nothing too fancy, just some cruising.. With tinted windows," he sighed dramatically when I frowned.

As Harley skipped ahead and called shotgun (I hoped she meant the front seat), I passed him on my way to the back door.

"My hats better."

"Mines vintage."

"A.K.A Old," I smirked slightly as I shut the door and he scowled.

He slid into the drivers seat and I realized my fatal error.

"Um.." I began, hoping his good mood would last, "You don't want Harley to drive?"

"Do YOU want her drive while I'm in the passenger seat?" he turned to grin at me.

I swallowed hard. That would be bad.

"Um... I guess not... but you do know one classic car can only take so much right? I mean... we're kinda low to the ground, and it can't handle to many pot holes or... jumps." I had barely managed the words when we sped over a speed bump, making my seatbelt lock up.

This could not end well.

I had brought my feet up to the seat with me and was clutching door with white knuckles when we finally came to a stop.

"Come on Kiddies," Joker chuckled (he was currently Joker, in no way bearing resemblance to the man who I sometimes managed to think of as father), "We've got some work to do."

I frowned. "Harley?" I asked softly.

She caught my gaze in the mirror and quickly diverted her eyes. On her face was a sad little smile that made my stomach clench.

"Come on kid, time to go," she said with half vigor.

I didn't move. I sat there, contemplating. This had never happened.

Of course, I had thought of what I'd do if it did. But now...

I couldn't think straight.

My mind was blank, then racing.

I could move to the other side, get out and run.

Where would I go? The police? And turn him in? Tell them where home was? Our actual home, where he came back to before landing back in Arkham for a week or two? The place I'd practically lived my life in?

And what would happen to me?

I couldn't go into foster care.

I wouldn't.

What if they sent me to a juvinile center?

I couldn't handle that either - but I had never turned him in, so wasn't that as bad as helping?

No.

I knew I had been manipulated as I was raised.

I had been conditioned.

No I hadn't!

Shit!

He'd never actually hurt me, he had always provided for me. He was my /father/.

And he was bad.

I was too rational to run, to irrational to run. I couldn't run from him, he'd be so mad.

And that would be betraying him.

My door opened.

The Joker smiled down at me. "Come on, kid, time for your first deed as the Joker's daughter."

I climbed shakily out of the car and took a deep breath. I looked up at him and met his expectant gaze. I didn't speak.

He put a hand on my shoulder and we walked together into the bank.

–

I know it got choppy towards the end, but when I get anxious my own thinking comes out in bullet sentences - so I went off that personal experience.

This is kind of getting a little more dramatic as it goes. I'm not sure any more how long it will be.

And I'm not clear on Jokers motives to be honest. Well... I sorta am. See, Joker's coming out now. Not her dad.

It's complicated.

Please review and tell me what you think!


	5. Joker Don't Like Robin Handling Me

1Have you ever walked into a bank and felt that weird stare security guards give you? And you do your best to look inconspicuous and end up feeling even more conspicuous?

There is nothing inconspicuous about walking into a bank with a man in a purple suit with chemically induced white skin, green hair, and red lips, and a woman in a skin-tight jesters outfit. Especially when they're holding guns as long as their arms. And you're in a henchwoman outfit.

I followed them both silently, frowning as he shot into the air and demanded with a smile that everyone get on the ground. My stomach roiled when one woman looked up at me with the same fear in her eyes she had when the Joker passed her.

As two women behind the counter filled pillowcases with green bills I spoke to him softly, hesitantly.

"Why did you do this? All that stuff about my mom... just to get me off my guard? What am I to you?" I managed to sound more angry than scared; but that gun was really big.

I don't care what they say. Size matters.

He turned that cruel smile on me. "You're my daughter. It's about time you joined the family business. Now, would it kill you to rough up a hostage or two while daddy-"

He cut off when two shadows fell over us and I stepped back fast as he was knocked to the ground, his gun sliding to my feet, and Harley was tackled, her gun falling behind the counter near one of the panicked women.

Joker grinned angrily ( I swear he practiced making a smile look mean) up at the caped hero and spoke. "If you don't mind, Batsy, we're having a little family fun," with the last word he pulled a knife from his sleeve and lunged up, but Batman deftly avoided his hand.

"What," Batman grunted as he caught Joker's wrist and they struggled face to face, "you and Harley finally tie the knot?"

Harley squealed and her eyes lit up, even as she struggled with Robin over a pistol she'd taken from her hat - I assumed. I didn't want to think of anywhere else she could have produced it from. Ugh.

"Not quite, see, there's someone I don't think you've me-"

Joker was cut off when Batman knocked the knife out of his grip and elbowed him in the ribs, then jamming his fist into Joker's jaw.

"Puddin'!" I heard Harley cry, drawing my attention again.

Robin had managed to take the pistol and get ropes around her middle, trapping her arms to her sides. He set her down beside the floor length windows and looked to Batman as he grunted.

I had missed whatever Joker did, but it knocked Batman back against the counter and Joker was above him with another knife. Where the hell did he get that one?

I was trying to keep tabs on the fighting around me, and when a hand grasped my shoulder I jumped a bit.

"It's okay!" Robin said quickly. "We're here to help. Come on, let me get you out of here," he took my hand gently, but insistently, smiling down at me. He was about two inches taller than me and I smiled hesitantly back.

"Hey!" a voice growled and we both turned to see the Joker release Batman from a strange hold.

Where that damned knife went I'll never know.

"This ain't a play date brat, if you don't get your hands off of my-"

Batman was really good at cutting people off mid-sentence.

Not that I minded when the person was my dad, the Joker.

Especially when he was about to reveal who I was.

Why was Robin looking at me like that?

"What?" I demanded, flushing a little.

He blinked, probably surprised I noticed, and then his cheeks reddened. "Uh, nothing. Come on, let's get outside with the others."

"What about Bat... them?" I asked, trailing off a bit when I saw my father's eyes flash. Okay, he could cut people off too.

Then I realized he wasn't looking at me, but glaring at Robin, who /was/ looking at me.

"Maybe that would be good," I said, grabbing his hand this time and pulling him towards the door.

There was a crash behind us and we turned just in time to see the Joker reach out and grab my other wrist, jerking me out of Robin's grip and pulling me to his side.

"Get your hand off my daughter birdboy," Joker growled. "Before I break your little wing."

I swallowed. This could only end badly.

Joker. Was. Pissed.

He was more mad than I'd ever seen him, even in the worst of rages.

"D-Daughter?" Robin's eyes widened.

"What's wrong, Joker? You think your protégée can't handle my protégé?" Batman growled from behind us.

And then I was released, because punches started flying again, and I heard Joker's reply as I stumbled away from them both and Robin caught my upper arm to keep me from falling.

"No, I'd just rather he not /handle/ her so eagerly Batsy. Didn't you teach your boy any manners?"

What the hell was happening here?

"Puddin'!" a voice called, just before our car crashed into the glass wall facing the street.

"Coming darling," Joker laughed as he clubbed Batman in the side of the head with a... rubber chicken. Apparently filled with rocks.

I had horrible genes.

Batman fell to the ground, and struggled to get up, but it was obvious this was the Joker's getaway moment, and as he ran to the car he reached for me. Robin acted swiftly and pulled me behind him, making Joker's jaw clench in anger.

"Miranda, come on. We're going home."

I hesitated and when I met his gaze I knew he could see my answer, because his eyes flashed in anger and then he sneered.

"I guess we'll pick you up later."

Oh great. A threat cleverly disguised as something a normal parent would say, in a normal tone.

I was in so much trouble if I went back home.

He leapt in the passenger side of the car and Harley looked at me, saying something I couldn't hear before wincing as Joker snapped at her. She gave me one last look and held up my hand and smiled a slight farewell as she threw the car in reverse and then sped down the road.

I was gonna miss Harley.

"Hey - uh - Miranda, wasn't it?"

"Yes," I nodded as I looked up at Robin, who appeared very bemused. "Um, nice to meet you."

"Um, yeah, I'm D-"

"Robin," I said quickly. "Nice to meet you Robin."

He flushed deeper red than before. "Yeah... yeah. Are you really... you know... The Joker's daughter?"

I sighed. This wasn't going to be easy.

"Yes. And I think I have a lot of talking to do with the police."

As if on cue, because the world seemed to do that a lot, we all heard the sirens of the Gotham Police Department headed our way.

Hello Commissioner.

--

A/N

Well?

What'd'ya think?

I can't really decide.

And don't worry, she won't be 'involved' with Robin.

I think.

I don't really want that to happen, seems cliche

and, because it confused me for a moment while writing, protégée is female, protégé is male. Never knew that.

Guess you learn something every day!

Did my best with dialog - hope I didn't disappoint!

And btw - Harley always shows up in the getaway car when they escape. So in this case, she wriggle out of the bonds and ran to the car.

((had to add that last line - since I did enjoy Ledger's Joker. I just love our classic baddy from the first season of BTAS more!))

And this Robin is Dick Grayson. Because they did so much to the multiple Robin's, that Dick is the only one I'm sure I remember.


	6. He Gave Me Hot Chocolate, I Liked Him

1I kinda liked Commissioner Gordon. He was well grounded; he seemed to understand that Batman was the only one who could deliver real justice to the likes of my father.

And he gave me hot chocolate.

I guess there was really no chance of him being on my bad side after that.

I was seated, as I had been for the past hour and a half, on the opposite side of his desk. Slowly I was aware my backside was going numb, but I tried not to fidget.

"So... You're telling me the Joker has a daughter, who he raised from a small child to a teenage girl, without harming her? And he's always had the same main hideout away from Arkham? All the other places have been temporary?" Gordon questioned me again.

I bit back a slight sigh. "Yes," I nodded. "My mother felt burdened by having me, and she never meant for it to happen, so when d- the Joker found out and showed up demanded to see his child she gave him me and a bag of my things. Before Harley came along he hired live-in nannies and such, and he has a service that I don't know the name of send someone to check on me and make sure I'm well taken care of while he's in Arkham. He never kept his crime from me, and almost all the bad guys he's teamed up with over the years know about me. In fact, sometimes they would come over to check up on me as well, to repot back to Joker in Arkham. They never told anyone because, even though everyone stabs everyone in the back, there's a certain respect for those who have relations to people not involved in crime."

Except, most of the other baddies just have boyfriends and such. I don't know of any other kids.

"Please understand, Miranda, it's not that I don't believe you. It's just,"

"Difficult," I nodded again. "I know. I had... hoped he wouldn't do this. Except for that moment last week he never even let on he might try to make the knowledge public. I begged him not to, but... he's sometimes difficult. I'm sure you can understand that. I was raised well, I never went without, but even when I was young I knew what he did was wrong. I just, had to make due," I said, hoping it didn't sound too melodramatic. "You guys probably know as well as I do; You just don't know what goes on inside his head. One minute he would say something that made him sound... paternal, and then the next minute he would be planning his next big crime and laughing like a madman."

"Sounds about right," Batman said from my left, and I saw him frowning out of the corner of my eye. He kinda made me nervous, but what was I to do, apologize for my father shooting, slicing, and mocking him?

I could have died from embarrassment when I yawned a moment later. Instead I flushed.

"Sorry, it's been a long day."

"No doubt. Let me escort you downstairs, arrangements have been made for where you're going to stay," Commissioner Gordon said as he stood at his desk.

"We have to keep her safe from the Joker," Robin said suddenly, causing all three of us to look at him. He frowned a little, as surprised by his outburst as we were. "He'll come after her, I'm sure of it!"

"Miranda is to be staying at Wayne Manor," Batman said, putting his hand on Robin's shoulder, and then looking at me. "Don't worry, it's the safest place in Gotham for you. You have my word the Joker will not come for you there."

I nodded hesitantly. "Thank you. I don't know if he'd... hurt me... but I am certain he's really, really mad."

Have you ever seen Wayne Manor? It's a freaking modern day castle! As soon as the Commissioner's car pulled into the drive (they'd decided a squad car would be too easy to track or follow) the manor literally took my breath away.

"I know Bruce personally, and when we spoke he was more than willing to house you for as long as necessary. There's no need to worry about clothing, supplies, anything you need will be provided for you," he must have seen my hesitation, because his voice was comforting.

The Batmobile had followed us until about a mile back when it had taken another route. I didn't know quite how to feel about Batman, yet. He hadn't exactly spoken much. I chalked it up to his unwillingness to get close to anyone, or allow anyone to get close to him.

And then I wondered if he had a family to take care of. If Batman had a child he had to look after, or a wife to provide for. Crime fighting didn't pay, and I wondered if his family ever had to go without for the good of Gotham.

It made my stomach clench slightly.

But not as much as it did when we actually stepped out of the car.

"Oh my God," I whispered, craning my neck to look up at the building.

"Any kid in Gotham would fight for the chance to stay at Wayne Manor," Gordon seemed to think his words were encouraging, but I frowned.

"And any one of them would probably deserve it a lot more than I would."

I cast my eyes on the ground. It wasn't fair, that I was suddenly burdening everyone around me. These were good people. I'd never been around people who were simply, inherently /good/.

Gordon set a hand on my shoulder. "You stood up not only to the Joker but your father. You deserve far more than a life with a master criminal."

I smiled half-heartedly, thinking of all my father had provided me with. My thoughts were still mulling about when we walked up the front steps and the door opened to us.

"Commissioner Gordon, Miss Matson, a pleasure to have you at Wayne Manor. Do come in."

"Thank you Alfred."

A butler? Name Alfred? Dad did a search of Alfred's in Gotham city once, saying Batman always spoke to an Alfred in the Batmobile. He hadn't found anyone worth looking into and had decided Alfred was a codename. Wonder what this Alfred would think if he knew he shared a name with Batman's behind the scene man.

Did I say Wayne Manor was big? It's even bigger inside.

"If you would accompany me to Master Bruce's study, he and Master Richard are awaiting you."

"Of course," Commissioner Gordon motioned for me to follow Alfred before him; I did so hesitantly, still taking in the almost threatening vastness of the main foyer.

When we arrived in the study my eyes went immediately to the shelves of books that lined the walls. That I could handle. I'd been having thugs bring me books and such for years, which I would then return to the local library on ym way to school. It looked like Bruce Wayne had more books than the library itself.

"Bruce, we can't tell you how much we appreciate your help here," Commissioner Gordon strode forward and shook Bruce Wayne's hand firmly.

"Not at all. I'm glad I can help, and we have more space then we know what to do with," Wayne smiled and then turned to me and offered his hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you Miss Matson, we're happy to have you here, and I don't want you to worry about clothes, supplies, anything."

I shook his hand. "Thank you, Mr. Wayne," I nodded.

He gestured and a boy standing off to his left came forward and smiled. "Hi, I'm Dick."

"Miranda," I smiled back.

It was a slight relief that we could greet each other like normal teenagers. I hadn't expected that. Then again, neither of us were very normal, he was the adopted son of the richest man in Gotham, and I was the Joker's daughter. If we went to school I doubt we'd ever even have similar acquaintances.

"Oh my God!" I gasped, interrupting something Commissioner Gordon was saying. "School! I totally forgot! What day is it? Oh man my math is all at the warehouse, I'm gonna flunk for sure!"

I was dead. My teachers would never believe it! And what would my friends say? Would they even let me back in school?

My fears were rising so suddenly that I only came back to myself after Mr. Wayne shook me gently, speaking to me.

"Miranda, clam down. It's alright. Alfred is going to the school with an officer tomorrow morning to explain the situation. From now on Dick will be going to school with you, and taking the same classes as well. Alfred will be picking you up and dropping you off each day. There is no way Joker will be able to take you back."

For the first time in years I felt helpless. I was scared, I was nervous, I was angry; I couldn't even think straight. I had betrayed my father, which put anyone who helped me in danger. My betrayal hadn't even been for the good of someone. I hardly spared a thought for those people in the bank. The knowledge hit me like a physical blow. I had only been thinking of myself. I had been so scared that I had defied him, not to be good or just, but because I was confused and hurt.

I felt the tears burning my eyes before I blinked and they began to fall; when Mr. Wayne hugged me I clung to him. My father never hugged me to console. Anytime he touched me it was because he felt it amusing, or because he wanted me to know right where I belonged.

I had spent the better part of sixteen years being manipulated and coerced, but what really stung was the suddenly knowledge that I had stayed because I wanted his approval. I wanted my father to acknowledge me as more than just some pawn.

I had just never counted on the price.

--

What am I gonna do with this girl?

Poor thing. All she wanted was a little parental love! I kinda feel like this could happen to someone in real life - well, it probably actually does - what with daughters seeking affection from men with qualities that their fathers had.

... Where's Miranda gonna find a guy like Mistah J?

And for the record, the whole Dick being able to sign up in a day and such...

He's Bruce Wayne. He ALWAYS manages to bend Gotham to his multi-million dollar will. It's the only reason half the Batman plots work.

And yes, I would totally freak out like that if I realized all my homework was with the Joker. I work hard on my school work!


	7. Incidences of War

1I never watched the news except with Joker and Harley, so when I stepped out of Mr. Wayne's limousine and was suddenly mauled by concerned friends I was slightly bemused. After assuring my friends I was okay, and waving off the policeman that was headed towards us, I introduced Dick.

"Um, guys, this is Dick Grayson, Mr. Wayne's surrogate son. Dick, this is Mary, Wendy, Monica, Jenny, and Ryan, my best friends."

There was a small moment of tension, before the warning bell rang for us all to get to first period. We walked together to the main hall, and then the group split, Mary, Dick, and I heading for English, while the others headed for their own classes.

"Hn," Mary made a slight sound of bemusement when we took our seats in the back of the class. The chair-desk combo's, those annoying ones that always make you either hunch over or sit really far back, were arranged in five rows of six chairs, then there was a single row with three desks. No one ever sat there unless they were in trouble.

"What?" I asked, pulling my binder from my school bag. I should mention, my school bag was found, with all my work and textbooks and supplies, outside the school with a letter attached to it. The unopened letter was in the otherwise empty front pocket of the bag.

"It's just weird. What can he," she nodded to Dick, who was talking to Mr. Vernon, the English teacher, "possibly do to protect you. Wouldn't it be easier to assign an officer to you or something? I mean, now they have officers watching you both, but not going to each class with you. It makes absolutely no sense."

Damn Mary and her logic. I hated her logic. She had tried to use it on me before, when she and Wendy had been worried about my home life. I'd almost gone to the police that very day.

Maybe I should be listening to her now.

"I don't know; I think they believe if Joker does come, Dick could help, distract him or run for help, something. I think he and Mr. Wayne are a bit skeptical of the Gotham Police; he and the commissioner seemed to know each other well."

"Hn," now the same sound was made to signify she would let it rest, for now. "I guess that actually could make sense, the police have never been able to keep that freak locked up. Oh," Mary paused, looking at me apologetically, "Umm.. Sorry."

"Don't be," I grinned, "You always told me my family must be from the loony bin. You were half right."

We laughed together I felt as if a weight was lifted. It was like... an ordinary day. I no longer had to hide my home life. I no longer had to lie to my best friends. I didn't have to be the girl that wouldn't let anyone spend the night, or come over after school - well... I didn't technically have a 'home' right then, but the point remained.

I never realized how guarded I had been around the people I trusted most.

It felt good.

First period went by quickly, Mr. Vernon assigned us a creative writing exercise, and allowed no disruption in his classroom - well... didn't allow anyone to pester me - Mary and I passed notes to each other, quite conspicuously, all period. Mr. Vernon was great, though, he figured if we were done and we usually produced high quality, we were fine.

I tried to get Dick to join in the note writing, but he wasn't finished when Mary and I were. Of course, we girls usually had extra short stories stashed away in our binders to whip out to turn in at the last minute.

After English, Dick and I headed for P.E. and parted ways at the locker rooms. Once inside I found Wendy waiting by my gym locker and we talked a bit about our first classes as we dressed down for the day.

She stopped me when I moved to head for the door back into the main gym, though.

"Mir," Wendy had long since gotten rid of most of my name, deciding three syllables was too complicated, "are you... okay? Aside from the obvious? I mean.. I think maybe you should just get some make-up assignments or something and go back to Wayne Manor. It's got to be a lot safer than school."

I smiled lightly at my friend, both grateful and guilty for her concern.

"I'm fine. It.. Helps to know part of my day isn't going to change."

She nodded once. "Alright, but if you need to talk..."

"I will, but not yet, I promise, you'll get all the best gossip," I grinned and she returned the smile as we parted to sit alphabetically against the sidewall in the gym.

Gym passed quickly, the ten minute jog and following badminton mini-tournament did wonders for taking my mind off of things, and soon Dick and I were waving to Wendy and heading for math.

My homework that I had worked so hard on, and gotten so worked up over, proved to be worth crying over, in the sense that it was a perfect score. I didn't have any close friends in my math class, but Dick was allowed to sit beside me and I told him more about my friends and the rest of the school day when our class work was finished.

"Wait... you're in choir?" he suddenly seemed crestfallen. "I have to... sing?"

"Not if you don't want to, I guess. Mr. Nahkla wouldn't make you... I think," I pondered for a moment over my eccentric choir director. "Maybe he will. We only have a few guys... and the majority are gay or questionable."

He grimaced. "I can't sing," he said firmly, almost to himself.

I just grinned, that's what Ryan had said before I convinced him two year earlier to take the elective, and now he was in our school choir and his church group as well.

"Don't worry we have history and lunch before then anyway," I winked. "Besides, you get to see my final project for history, it's pretty epic, not gonna lie."

"So humble," he smirked and we both laughed.

Math seemed to fly by, and, as I knew it would, my stomach started to flip-flop. I always got shaky and nervous before a presentation or performance, and this was a combination of the two. Dick, obviously concerned, asked me how I was feeling.

"I'm fine, just nervous for my presentation. Whenever I'm center stage I'm a bit wired I guess."

"You must get that from your mom."

As soon as he said the words he winced, and looked apologetic.

"Miranda, I'm sorry, I didn't mean..."

"No," I cut him off, "It's okay." I then smiled. "It's actually funny. He... loves the limelight. So do I, I just don't quite... captivate the audience like he does."

I assured him twice more that I wasn't upset before the bell rang and when it did my stomach knotted once again. Swallowing hard I managed a smile for Dick and led him down the hallway to our next class. We both went to Mr. Conklin, our teacher, and explained that Dick was going to be with me for an undetermined amount of time.

When the bell rang for class to begin Mr. Conklin quieted down the class, took roll, then called me up for my presentation. I came to the front and put my poster on an art easel we'd borrowed from the art department, and then Mr. Conklin helped me set up his stereo on the front table.

I smiled to him, took a breath, then turned to address the class.

"I'm Miranda Matson, and I'd like to talk to you about a few of the 'incidences'," I used air quotes for the word, "of the Civil War."

As I began talking of the injustices done by both the North and South, I found myself getting more and more into my topic. I made wild gestures with the hands, I used my tone to show how I felt about the way soldiers from both sides had murdered and raped, and I even knocked over my poster in my exuberance. Mr. Conklin helped me recover from that.

And then came time to use the stereo.

"I have two songs I would like to sing to you. I bet everyone will know the tuneof at least one of the songs. First I have a country song, don't judge," I added when I heard a groan and I stared pointedly at one of the football players. "It details the way the North felt when the war was over. Then I have an 80's rock ballad, accompanied by the original artist, Twisted Sister, to show you how the South felt when the war began."

The country song went well, mostly because it was an emotional number and to make fun of it was to be crass a unrefined. But as soon as I turned on the stereo to sing my version of 'We're Not Gonna Take It,' every face in the class had either a smile or a look that said, I don't know this person.

--

Eh?

Sorry it took me so long to update, and thanks a ton for all the reviews!

I know this was kinda short, but I wanted to break the school day up a bit. So, if things go according to my plans, I should actually have the last half of school up in a week or less.

If anyone's interested in the lyrics to the songs, I could post them, because the entire project was actually a bit of a play by play of what my eighth grade History final was... yeah, I sang along to Twisted Sister.


	8. Tropicana and Broken Rules

1At lunch I procured seats for Dick and myself and within minutes we were surrounded by the usual group: Mary, Wendy, Alex, Ryan, Bri, Jenny, and various others who came and went. Jenny stole some of Alex's fries, Mary brought forth her customary cardboard box of Tropicana orange juice, and I tried to explain some of our lunch customs.

"See, Alex is too nice, so he can't help but let Jenny take fries. Jenny then tries some of Mary's orange juice, which she always chokes on because she hates orange juice. Mary, Wendy, and I usually just sit and talk. Today seems pretty calm, but be prepared for anything," I smiled, "things happen at our lunch table. Terrible things."

Dick and I both laughed at my dramatization, but I believe I've mentioned how the universe has comedic timing. My father loved it, and I never seemed to escape it. At that moment in time Jenny decided to choke jokingly on orange juice, which made Mary laugh, then /actually/ choke on a pretzel, flail, hit Alex in the face, and send a random bag of popcorn flying into the air.

As popcorn rained down upon us, and Mary finally got the pretzel down, I looked over at Dick and we both cracked up.

The whole incident seemed to finally break Dick out of his shell. For the rest of lunch he laughed along at the jokes and even told us some great stories about his life with Bruce Wayne. Who knew the austere looking butler could be so funny?

I was disappointed when the bell rang for choir, but pleased to see that when my friends said goodbye to me, they also said goodbye to Dick. As we walked down a shorter hallway to the choir and band room he made a comment that struck me as strange.

"It's weird not having to hide myself."

It was almost whispered and he was looking around at the lockers and the posters on the wall, so I decided it wasn't meant to be heard. However, he noticed my gaze and flushed a little. I smiled.

"I feel your pain."

He grinned and pulled opened one of the double doors open for me just as I opened the opposite one for him. We looked at each other and both of us smiled again, walking in our respective doors.

As we entered a soprano voice rang out above the usual pre-class muttering and gossip. I immediately answered and soon my friend/enemy (if you've ever been lead alto and had to sing a duet with a lead soprano you understand) Emily Johnson and I were into a full song and dance rendition of _Annie Get Your Gun_'s "Anything You Can Do." It was promptly cut off by the director when we started arguing, playfully, more than singing.

"Start warming up," he snapped, pulling a very imposing scowl at us.

I motioned for Dick to follow me as I headed for the director's office. We stopped in the doorway and I waited to be acknowledged. After explaining the situation a little more in depth than the e-mail my teacher's had apparently received about the new student, he sent us back to the group.

Half an hour into class I realized Mr. Nahkla was overjoyed to have an extra boy in class, and after warming up (have you ever had a semi-crazy choir director? You know obnoxious choir warm-ups), he launched us into a rendition of "The Water is Wide". Dick instantly became very reserved.

"What's wrong?" I asked softly as Mr. Nahkla began a sectional with the sopranos.

"My parents loved this song," he said softly. "It... It was played at their funeral."

His answer was a bit terse so I didn't press the matter, but I did drop a subtle hint to Mr. Nahkla that we weren't ready for our upcoming concert. Nahkla immediately launched into a rant about how easily distracted we teenagers our, and when he was done he had forgotten his lesson plan for our class. In his frustration he sent us into our jazz rendition of Julie Andrews' "My Favourite Things".

The piano led us in, but before we could hit our first cues someone else began a twisted version of the choir's favourite song.

Acid raindrops on wilted roses,

Choping whiskers from kittens.

I went rigid and I grabbed Drick's arm in a vice grip. I that slightly off-pitch soprano. Oh God.

Bright copper gun barrels,

With Puddin' I'm smitten.

Not only were her words and rhythms off, but she couldn't keep from giggling. Harley and two thugs (apparently my book loving friends had been replaced in my absence) came down from the ceiling on ropes. Harley did a back flip from the rope to the ground, landing daintily and smiling at us.

Broad Joker giggly grins,

Eyes full of pain,

And then he slid down a rope, holding his hat out with one hand and finishing the verse as he landed.

"Those are some glorious, horrible things!"

He cackled and kissed Harley's cheek. "You were wonderful, Poo," he purred, making the petite woman giggle and smile adoringly up at him.

As Mr. Nahkla ushered the class backward towards the opposite wall the crazed clown, I tuned them out.

My eyes were on my father. He looked unarmed, but I knew he had various knives and 'toys' stashed in his clothing. Do you know how hard it is to iron a suit with a ton of little added pockets without letting them all crease? I always hated it when he broke out without Harley and left me to negotiate his purple suits.

But I regress. It's easy to do that, recall very random things at very inappropriate times. Joker's gaze met mine and he beamed, eyes bright - but unreadable. There are very few things that can give a person insight on the Joker, and his eyes are two of them. Sometimes. His eyes often turned hard if he was about to kill, and they would be very light and amused when something truly struck him as humorous. But he was most dangerous when he was unpredictable - like just then.

"Please," I said softly. "Please don't hurt anyone. I'll come home. Please..."

He smiled softly and patted my head like one would a small child. "Don't worry Sweetums, Daddy's gonna play nice. Now, you love this class, so you've said - ah - you didn't think I listened to you when you talk about school?" he must have seen the surprise in my eyes. Of course I didn't think he listened. Why would he care? "I know how it feels to be shut out and ignored, darling, I wouldn't want my child to feel that way." Bull. He just needed information to use against me in cases like this. "So why don't you introduce me to your teacher?"

Harley was smiling a bit tentatively. "Mistah J, we've got her back. We should head home. I mean, we can get at Bats later for taking her, right?"

He smiled at her, making her fall silent. We both knew that smile was not to be crossed.

"I want to see if he has a recording of my little girl, Harl. She won't be coming bakc and I thought we might take a keepsake of her time here."

No. No, no, no, no, no.

"I'm not dropping out of school."

"We'll get you a tutor, Sweatheart. I'd like to take a little more interest in your education anyway," Joker was looking over my classmates and not paying any attention to me. I could see the way his eyes landed on each student, taking in their fear and surprise, wondering which ones would cry or fight...

"No!" I snapped, grabbing his arm and tugging.

He stilled and turned towards me. I swallowed hard, removing my hand, but I refused to back down.

"I'll come home. I'll figure out a way to and from school without being followed. But I won't leave for good. School is the only place I can be myself. I have to have something to fall back on! Something to look forward to!" my voice rose with my anger. "I'm going to focus on my education! I refuse to be anything like you!"

There was a beat of silence and I would see his eyes were searching mine for something. Then he smiled.

"We'll see, Miranda... We'll see." he turned. "Harley! We're leaving."

He turned back to me, smile still in place.

"I've kept you from the world, Miranda, but it was more for your protection. You /are/ my daughter. All the chemical bleach in the world can't change that. Do you really think you can live a normal life? Now that Gotham knows who and what you really are-"

"I'm not you! Everyone here knows that! I haven't changed!" I cut him off.

"Oh, but you have," he was giggling now, "You're the Joker's daughter now!" his giggle transformed into a mad cackle.

A cackle that was cut off hen he was kicked in the chest and sent flying into the side wall.

Robin spoke as he landed upright from the kick, "Just because you share the same genes doesn't mean you're anything alike!" He gestured to me and then to the class, "Get them out of here!"

I nodded, thankful he'd arrived. Mr. Nahkla and I managed to get most everyone out as Harley and the two thugs took on the Boy Wonder. When I began to follow the class I was grabbed from behind.

"Sorry, kid, Mistah J doesn't want Bird Boy getting near you again," Harley said as she pulled me toward the double doors leading out towards the staff parking lot.

"Miranda!" a familiar voice called my name.

"Dick!" I gasped, struggling. I whirled Harley and I both towards the doors leading to the hall, expecting to see my friend. Instead I saw Robin, who had incapacitated both thugs and was looking towards Harley and I. I also saw Joker coming up behind him.

"Robin! Behind-"

Harley slapped a hand over my mouth and as the Joker took a swipe at the side-kick I stomped down on her foot. She squealed and released me.

"Sorry, Harl," I said quickly before running to Robin's aid.

When I leapt into my father's arms, pushing him back a few feet and knocking his knife away, I wasn't thinking. Silence fell over those of us remaining in the room and I went rigid. I mentioned earlier that my father hated people touching him - that he only touched on his terms. I had learned that when I was young. It was one of my only very serious rules as a child that was never to change. And I'd just broken the rules.

"I'm sorry," I said slowly, not letting go for a moment. I turned my assault into an actual hug - though one-sided. "You've done good things for me... and I thank you for it... but I can't do this anymore. Goodbye, dad."

I let go and Robin pulled me back as police rushed in the room and Joker and Harley took off.

******

I know.

I suck.

A lot.

Hopefully not enough you all hate me. ;(

That would be sad.

I've had this written since a week after I last posted... and then it got lost, and then I was to lazy to type it... and then I kept going... hey! I should post that for people... and then reading other peoples fanfiction instead.

SORRY!

On another note - I hope this was decent. I still don't know where this story is headed - but I do plan on finishing it. I just make no more false promises of speedy or even decently timed up-dates.

Reviews are too much to ask now - but it's not gonna stop me!


	9. I am not my father

It was only a matter of minutes until I was sitting in Commissioner Gordon's office. This time, though, I didn't feel like hot chocolate.

"You're certain you wouldn't like to speak to one of our counselors?" Gordon asked softly. "This can wait."

"No," I shook my head, "I just want to give the report and sort this out. I don't want to play his games anymore." For a moment I went silent, but I could tell Gordon was waiting to me to continue. I took a breath. "I'm not going to let him rule my life anymore. I'm not going to give up everything I have to be his protégée. I have good grades, and I'm intelligent. It just… took a jolt to make me see what had to be done."

"Good. Then you'll take us to the Joker's real home."

Not going to lie, I'm used to surprises. You don't live with the Joker and flinch when a Jack in the Box pops out (well, okay, I still do – but don't you!?). Usually, though, my father tries to scare me, and then he giggles about it.

Batman does not giggle. He comes out of nowhere and speaks in a harsh voice full of power and demand.

So I jumped up and to the side, causing both the chair and myself to start toppling over. While my chair clattered sideways, I was caught a hand on my upper arm. Robin helped me straighten up and looked at me with slightly worried eyes.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

"Yeah, thanks. Nice reflexes," I grinned slightly. "Oh! I wanted to ask you – did you see Richard Grayson? Bruce Wayne's son."

Robin blinked. 'Bruce Wayne's… Son?"

"Yes. The police couldn't find me after my- after the Joker and his cronies got into the school." I'd been worried about him since they told me he was missing. "Could the Joker have taken him?"

"The Joker is in Arkham, where he belongs," Batman said firmly.

"But what about,"

"The boy is at Wayne Manor," Batman snapped, "Now tell us where the Joker's hideout is."

I frowned. "What happened to Harley?"

"Doctor Quinzel is in Arkham as well," now the caped man stepped towards me. "Where is his hideout?"

I stepped away from him. "What are you going to do there?"

"That's none of your business. Where is it at?"

He was growing angry and, though intimidated, so was I. It wasn't just the Joker's hideout, it was my home.

"If I take you there, will it be blocked off?"

"Of course. Who knows what's in there. Bombs, gas, anything is possible," Batman was frowning. "And if you don't take us there, you'll be putting hundreds if not thousands of lives in danger. You'll be no better than the Joker."

Robin's eyes widened a bit. "Batman…" he trailed off, turning to take in my reaction.

I have my dad's old eyes. I have his slightly wavy hair. I even laugh a little bit like him when I get carried away.

But I am /not/ anything like him when it comes to his disregard for human life. I could never kill someone – I don't think I could ever even seriously hurt someone. And I am /not/ my father. However, I am also not someone who responds well to threats and right then I was pretty pissed off at the Dark Knight of Gotham.

"He came to take me home," I crossed my arms, perhaps a bit petulantly; "He wouldn't have set up any traps for you or anybody else. If I take you to my home, I want the chance to grab the things that are sentimental to me."

"Sentimental?" Robin asked, confused.

"What could you have there that was sentimental?" Batman seemed to be slightly less agitated now that I was open to the idea of showing him his archenemy's home base.

Still, I glared at him. "Just because he and Harley are criminals doesn't mean I'm not attached. Harley is the closest things I've ever had to a mother or sister and the Joker is my father. He taught me to ride a bike, taught me to read, he even helped me with my homework on more than one occasion. And Harley has always taken me shopping, played dress-up when I was younger, and she's even been teaching me to cook. I have pictures of us all. Birthday cards, presents…" I sat down. "They weren't great parental figures, but they're all I ever had. For everything they've done, and all the good memories I have, I love them. For all the worry, uncertainty, and fear, I hate them. I only get one childhood, and I want to keep some of it, even if I leave the rest behind."

I trailed off, frowning, then blushed because I realized I had been rambling quite extensively. I looked up at all three of them in turn, and steeled myself against Batman's calculating gaze.

"It's the only way I'll take you there."

"Miranda, we can't just let you remove evidence," Gordon sighed.

"We'll go tomorrow night. Commissioner, can you send word to Wayne Manor as to when the school will reopen?"

Gordon, Robin, and I looked at Batman in surprise. Gordon sighed, but Robin and I both smiled slightly.

"At least keep me informed if you're going to be looking for anything really dangerous," the Commissioner turned to me. "I'll get a car to take you back to Wayne Manor."

"No need for that, Commissioner Gordon, I am here to retrieve her," a voice said from the door.

I turned with a smile to Alfred. "Do all Butlers have a sixth sense for timing?"

He smiled, so just the corner of his mouth twitched in amusement. "Only the truly exceptional ones, actually."

"Oh, um, Batman," I turned, planning to thank him, but both he and Robin were gone. I glanced around the room, and then looked back at the two remaining men.

"You'll get used to that. Maybe." Gordon sat down with a sigh. "I never really have. Always talking to myself like a madman."

He closed his eyes and continued ranting a bit, as Alfred caught my eyes and glanced towards the door. I nodded with a smile and we slipped out silently, closing it just in time to hear Gordon go silent, then begin muttering about how respected police officers once were.

When we got to the car and began to drive to Wayne Manor, I couldn't help but question Alfred.

"Is Dick okay? Is he at the manor? Is he upset?" My words flooded out. I felt responsible for his involvement with my father. I also felt bad for exposing the boy, who was normally completely safe, to danger.

"Master Dick is safe at home. He is possibly more worried about you than you are about him," Alfred looked at me in the rearview mirror. "There was quite the argument about whether or not he could come and see you."

I frowned. "Mister Wayne is probably upset with me. I was selfish to want to go back to a place the Joker could break into so easily."

"Mister Wayne is a hardened man, but he is not without empathy. He especially understands the desire for normalcy after one has lost all they have known."

"But he and Dick were both orphaned by murders. I still have a father, maybe a mother, somewhere." I tended not to think about my mother. As I mentioned earlier, the Joker told me that she had simply handed me over to him with no intentions of getting me back. What kind of a mother would give a young child to a known, criminally insane, murderous clown?

The same woman who slept with said clown in the first place.

I truly hope my mother was just in dire straits. I hope she needed money or protection. I can't imagine my father ever propositioning a woman. To be honest, I tend to think of my father as an asexual being. He never showed anything but play-affection for Harley, who was quite beautiful, and he'd never even made a wayward embarrassing dirty comment or something like a normal father would.

Not that he was a normal father.

Still. I hope my mother was just desperately in need of help in the form of money or guns. It would be… a harsh blow to find out my mother just wanted to try her luck with some psycho.

"You look rather pale, Miss Matson. Perhaps you should lie back and get a drink from the cooler on your left. There are some bottles of Japanese Spring Water that are very refreshing."

I nodded and smiled. "Thanks, Alfred."

Hey guys, long time no see! Seriously. Long. Time.

So, yeah. Here it is, the ninth chapter. And I'm working on number ten even as I post this. No promises as to when it will be up, of course, but hopefully it won't take half a year this time!

I sort of like where this is going now. Getting a little more intense. You like?


	10. I wish Batman would break his rule

I had led Batman to my home, where I packed a suitcase full of pictures, clothes, and knick knacks. I had never been a very materialistic person, a trait I did not share with the Joker. Batman had taken me immediately back to the police station to wait while the search was conducted. With him there, no one had gotten hurt, though they had found a few booby traps. I didn't know what they found in the Joker's workroom. I didn't want to know, either.

Two days later I found myself walking down the sterile, bright hallway at Arkham Asylum. I was in the hall where the most dangerous and mentally unstable villains were kept. The glass walls were disconcerting, because I know many of the inmates, and they knew me. I smiled a little to Harley, then to Pam and Harvey as I passed them. Eddy was engrossed in some type of crossword, and didn't even notice the guard, a big man names Thomas, and I walk by. When I finally reached my dad's cell, Thomas unfolded a metal chair and set it down for me, then walked back to the far end of the hall.

"Ummm… Hey," I managed weakly.

My dad frowned over at me from his bed, were he laid with his arms behind his head and one leg crossed over the other. I sighed.

"I just wanted to come and say thank you. For all of the terrible things you've done… you've done some pretty great things, too. Despite how different we are and how strange it was being raised by you – we had some good times. So I… I made you this," I pulled a little book from my bag. It was filled with pictures I had copied. There were quite a few. I had had very little to do since I'd retrieved my things from my old home. "Burn it, look at it, toss it away, whatever. It was really as much for me as it was for you."

I looked over to Thomas and nodded, and he punched something into a metal code box on the wall beside him.

The small slot opening where the Joker was sometimes given meals slid open and I pushed the scrapbook through, onto a small, bolted down, table in his cell.

He didn't even glance towards me, but I could tell by the way he tapped his foot in the air that he was at least somewhat interested.

"They, um, told me that we can write each other if we like. I know that's not your style. They also told me I can visit… I will if you want me to. You probably have no desire to see me, but now I can come and visit Harley and Pam and some of the others…" I trailed off. He had stopped tapping. "Look – For whatever reason, I didn't turn out like you thought I would. You're the Clown Prince of Crime, I'm a confused and scared teenage girl who stood up not the most feared man in Gotham, but her father as well. It's almost funny. It took you trying to make me rob a bank, for me to see that we would never be able to coexist as I grew up. Who would have guessed."

With that I stood.

"Maybe I'll say hi when I come by to see Harley next time."

I left him with those words, standing and taking the chair with me. My hands were trembling slightly, and I tried hard not to see the pity in the eyes of the people I walked by. Why that exchange, that very one-sided exchange, had made me so anxious I wasn't entirely sure. I set the chair down in front of Harley's cell and looked at her with a frown that probably mirrored my fathers.

"Hey, Harley," I said softly, awkwardly.

"Hey, Sweetie, how ya holdin' up? Did ya talk to Mistah J?"

"Well, I talked. He… ignored," I felt my throat tighten slightly. "How long was he planning that stunt at the bank? How long did you know that he was going and try to suck me into your guys' crime sprees?"

"He told me when we got back from picking out your costume. I tried to tell him it was a bad idea, hun," Harley looked vaguely ashamed of herself.

"He's really upset, Harley," I swallowed. "I… I know he can get out of here. Please, Harley, tell me as a friend – should I be scared? I broke his rules, I know that. Is he going to come after me?"

I thought to myself that no child should fear their parent, or how they will turn out compared to their parent.

Harley bit her lip. "I don't know. If he does – I'll try to stop him – but you know Mistah J. He wanted you to have as much fun as we always do!" she smiled tentatively.

I felt my blood boil at that.

"No!" I snapped. "He wanted to screw with people by bringing along his teenage daughter to a robbery! No more games and lies, Harley! It's just a big joke to him! All of it! My entire life has been one big set-up, and he's pissy because I ruined his punch line!"

I knew the Joker, and the entire hall, could hear me.

"I wish Batman would break his rule – just once! There are no bars that can keep ou in, no treatments that can save you. Clowns are men in masks, but you're no clown – You're just a monster!" I yelled, and walked brusquely out of the wing, leaving Harley behind me as she tried to call out and bring me back.

I left Arkham, upset. Alfred was on his way, but I began walking towards town, the sting of tears in my eyes. I smiled bitterly. Out of all my years with the Joker, I didn't really ever remember crying except for in pain if I fell or something. And yet, in the course of a few days, I'd cried twice. Once because I broke down like a total freak… and then because I'd finally see the Joker for what he really was. It wasn't as if I'd ever expected to grow up and have a normal life – I knew my situation would eventually fall apart… but still. I had thought I had a few more years. At least until I graduated.

Mr. Wayne's limo pulled up beside me and I hopped into the backseat.

"Before you ask, Alfred, it went terrible. I totally blew up and basically told my own father I wished he was dead."

"Really? That certainly makes this more interesting."

I jerked at the voice, hitting my head hard against the window. Biting back a curse, I tried to open the door only to find it locked, and the safety locks engaged. Of course it would be locked, but my brain still frantically tried to think of a plan of escape.

"Please calm down, Miranda. I don't want to have to restrain you."

Holding a hand to my my throbbing temple, I looked over at the man sitting on the side sea of the limo.

"What did you do to Alfred? I know this is Mr. Wayne's car!" I snapped.

He smirked slightly. "It is very convincing, isn't it? I had it specially made. Even the plates are the same in virtually every way."

I was aware of this. It's why I had been certain I was getting into the correct car, not some… crazy man's. He had planned this, then, and carefully. But why?

Because I was the Joker's daughter, of course. The Joker had wronged this guy, whoever he was, and now he, the man, was out for revenge. It never actually occurred to me until then that I would be a huge target for the Joker's enemies. I'd only thought about the good guys. I never factored in how many fellow criminals he had screwed over.

"I've wanted to meet you for some time, Miranda. Oh, may I call you by your given name? I feel so familiar toward you after all my years of study," he smiled lightly.

He had perfect teeth. I don't know why it struck me so suddenly, but it did. He had a pleasant face – attractive, I guess. I tend to find older men attractive, like in the mid forties. Weird, I know. Probably some screwed up daddy issue I'd have to deal with when I got older. If I got older. This guys looked around thirty, maybe as old as thirty-five. He had light brown hair, a little longer than his shoulders, and it was pulled back into a ribbon or tie of some sort. He was clean shaven, and he reminded me a little of some classic movie villain, a mob boss in a black suit.

I really hoped he wasn't a mob boss.

"I'm not in much of a position to tell you what you can or cannot do," I said tentatively. I had reacted poorly at his surprising presence, but he seemed unfazed. He had said he didn't want to bind me, but it was clearly both a statement and a threat.

"I understand you much be frightened, but truly it is not my desire to treat you as anything less than an honored guest. I knew you would be unwilling to participate in my little experiment," his fingers laced over his knee as he crossed his legs. He smiled again. "First, of course, let me introduce myself. I am somewhat tardy in that aspect. I am Roman Harding. I was a student with Harleen Quinzel in college."

"You know Harley?"

"In a sense. She would never have gone by Harley," he said the nickname with a chuckle, "when we were acquainted."

"So you knew her before she met my dad," I ventured. "And you're upset because of how she… changed."

"Not at all, I was thrilled when she beca,e Harley Quinn. She was much easier to track than the Joker ever was. You see, I've been trying to study the Joker since before I was a student. Ever since I heard he had a child," he was clearly fascinated by the fact. I was getting a really creepy vibe from this man. He was way too pleasant, way too eager to explain himself. "I had to wonder who would not onl bear his child, but allow him to take the child from her. Your mother was a most curious study."

My eyes widened. "My… my mother?"

He knew my mother! He knew who she was. He had talked to her, questioned her, asked her why she did what she did.

My bewilderment must have been evident, because he continued quickly. "I've kept all of my notes. I will let you look over them. Unfortunately… the woman has passed. She was unwell, overcome by cancer. It was swift and debilitating."

My mind raced. "Is that why she…?" I trailed off. I couldn't finish the question.

A look akin to pity crossed his features. "I am afraid we not get to those questions. As I said, she was very sick. So sick that she passed even as we spoke."

I could feel my face fall, and I frowned, trying to ignore the pang of regret in my chest. It was no loss to me, really, but that one chance at meeting my mother had made me realize how much I had truly wanted to meet her. To get my mind off of the subject, I spoke.

"So why have you kidnapped me, then?"

His eyes lit up at that, which disturbed me more than a little bit.

"I want to see if the Joker will come for you," he said it almost excitedly. "To see if a madman will come and rescue his daughter. If he does, then I wish to find his motivation.

I snorted slightly. "Fat chance. He and I aren't exactly on speaking terms."

I thought hard of some way to escape from this man. He was frightening to say the least, and I wasn't sure how much more I wanted to hear about him or his… studies.

"But then, what were the chances of him raising you at all? And even if he doesn't come, it will give me a chance to finally study you in person. The Joker may be one of the most villains, but you, the only known child of such a person, you are a true treasure. Psychology, sociology, so many fields will be utterly changed by how you think and act."

"I'm not a toy or animal to experiment on!" I snapped. "I'm a human being! You can't just kidnap someone and then expect them to play along!"

"Ah, you forget, I knew you would not willingly participate at first. I am hoping as time passes, you will be more open to sharing your stories. If not," His perfect teeth winked at me through his smile, "we'll use more vigorous questioning techniques."

* * *

Hello all! Look at this madness! Two chapters in like… one month! That's amazing! Also, I have both chapters 11 and 12 done, but they have to be typed so it might be a while before I have time!

Thanks to everyone to reviewed! I'm glad to see not everyone gave up on me! I really am sorry for the obscene wait!


	11. Her Name Was Eleanor

"I told ya, I didn't see anything else! A limo pulled up, the kid got in, and it drove off! It looked just like the limo that old geezer showed up in!" a man shouted as he was pulled along the hall in front of Harley's cell by two buff guards. "If that was a kidnapping it sure didn't look like it!"

Harley's eyes widened as he leapt up and ran to the clear plastic wall of her cell. "Hey! What's going on? What happened to her?" she cried.

A guard following behind paused at her cell. She didn't recognize him, Arkham guards had a pretty high turnover rate, but he seemed sympathetic. "She's missing. When her ride got here, she was already gone. That schmuck down there says he saw her getting into an identical vehicle and-"

"She was kidnapped!" the petite blonde shrieked, cutting him off.

"Calm down!" he said quickly, looking back down the hall. "We don't know for sure. We're taking the guy to the Joker to see if Joker knows anyone who specializes in kidnapping,"

He trailed off as a soft chuckle echoed down the hall toward them. The chuckle rose to a sharp cackle that made a shiver run down Harley's spine. Even she didn't want to face the Clown Prince when he laughed like that.

* * *

"What is your favorite color?"

"Purple."

"Favorite school subject?"

"Umm.. Choir, I guess. History if you're only talking about core subjects."

"Favorite number?"

"I think favorite numbers are stupid."

"Favorite book?"

"Horton Hears a Who."

"Miss Matson, I have asked you to stay serious," Harding scolded me as if I were a child.

"None of these questions are even connected!" I snapped back. "The Joker doesn't have anything to do with my favorite animal or my favorite food!"

"He is your father," Harding folded his hands over the tablet he was writing on. "He has everything to do with you. Your genetics and your actions are correlated to you as a whole."

"He wasn't the only influence I ever had," I sat up from the lounge I was laying on at his request. "I read, watch the news, go to school, and interact with other kids my age."

I was sick of Harding's twenty questions games. I wanted to know more about my mother, more about the 'less exceptional genetic contributor', as Harding put it. I wanted to know if I really did look like her, like the Joker had said in his study.

He clearly knew what was running through my mind, because he spoke even as I opened my mouth.

"You have been… more cooperative than I had hoped. Perhaps you are right; I should limit the number of questions I ask you in one session. But, for every session you cooperate in, I will provide you will incentive in the form of information about your mother. We are done for the day. Tomorrow I will ask you about when you were very young. If you could start thinking about your earliest memories, it will save us some time. And you may have this," he stood and reached over to his desk, picking up a piece of paper and holding it out to me. "It is a basic list of information about your mother."

I took the sheet and he turned away, moving behind his desk and flipping through his notes.

"You will be staying up on the second floor. There is your room, a full bathroom, and a sitting room. Your dinner will be brought to your room at five, and we will meet for our next session at eleven tomorrow morning. If you need something crucial there is a phone in your room that will call to the kitchens, maids quarter's or my office. It does not make calls outside of the house. Alyssa will show you to your room."

He said all of this without even glancing at me. At his obvious dismissal I turned to find a young woman in a dark red work dress at the door. She smiled to me and gestured for me to follow her,. I did so, annoyed still at Harding's actions, but excited to get to my room and look over the information about my mother.

Alyssa led me down the hall and opened a door on our left, revealing a narrow set of stairs. I wish I could tell you more about the house, but all I really remember is the hall, my room, and Harding's office. The most distinct thing about the areas I saw was the difference in style. The downstairs was full of elegant looking artwork and furniture. It made the place feel formal and impersonal. Upstairs, I quickly discovered, was entirely different. I found out later why the two parts of the house were so different, and I still feel a little bit guilty for hating the upstairs so much because of it.

* * *

"Bats!" Harley cried when she saw the masked figure passing her cell.

He stopped and turned towards her, stoic. She quickly moved to clear wall of the cell, her face anxious.

"Oh, Bats, I know she's Mistah' J's daughter, but you just gotta find her! She isn't a bad girl! She never wanted anything to do with our fun, I swear!"

"We're going to do everything we can, Dr. Quinzel. If you can think of anyone specific who would want to harm her, let the guards know and the information will be passed to me."

Harley nodded, eyes watery, and Batman moved on down the hall toward the interrogation room. He was reaching for the door handle when a voice made him stop and turn.

"Hope you find whoever took the kid before something bad happens, Bat-boy," Joker called calmly from where he lay on his bed. He flashed a smile the crusader's way. "Don't think it's anyone from my past, but I can't the same about her mom. That gal made friends with some unsavory types."

"What do you mean, Joker?" Batman demanded. "Who was her mother? Who did she cross?"

The Joker shrugged lightly. "Kid came to live with me when she was four. Don't know what ever happened to Ell. Singing at the same old club, I guess."

"Joker, this could be life and death for your only child! You've taken care of her until now, doesn't she mean anything to you!"

The Joker was up in an instant and at the wall, smile gone. "Don't try to analyze me, Batsy," he growled with a sneer. "I'm not the paternal type. It was fun, giving the kid a send off at the bank, and seeing what she did at school, but I don't give a damn about usurping your mentor of the year award."

Suddenly the Joker's grin was back and it had a lascivious leer to it. He winked.

"Careful, Bats. You know what happened to the last pretty little shrink that tried to figure me out."

Batman's narrowed in disgust and he turned away as the Clown Prince giggled and blew him a kiss.

* * *

Two months.

My mother had died only two months before Harding kidnapped me. The paper didn't specify how she died; only listing the cause as an illness.

She had been twenty when she had me. A singer at a downtown Gotham club called the S.O. Club. She had died at thirty-six years of age.

She had had brown curly hair and dark brown eyes. She was only five feet four inches tall. That explained why I was only a little over five feet three inches. When he'd realized I wasn't going to get any taller, the Joker made my short stature into a running gag.

Eleanor.

My mother's name was… had been… Eleanor.

I had so many questions.

I wished Harding had given me a picture. I wished I knew what her personality was like. I wished I could have heard her voice. Were our voices similar? Did I get my love for singing from her?

Harding thought the Joker was so damn fascinating. I'd lived with the clown for as long as I could remember – all I wanted to know was more about my mother. I knew the only way to get that information was to humor the freak that had kidnapped me 'in the name of research'.

I smiled to myself, thinking rude thoughts about the man's questionable orientation and comparing him to Harley. The smile faded, though; when I turned my focus to the room I had been given.

It was simple, but homey. It reminded me of when I had spent a weekend during the summer at one of my friend's grandparent's home. The door from the stairs opened into a corner. Against the far wall across from the door a queen size bed sat between two small oval windows. A quilt with pastel colored squares and patterns lay across it, with matching pillows lying against the headboard.

Against the wall to my right stood a wardrobe, beside that a vanity and dresser. The wall to the far left had an open door that led to a bathroom. The wall that I stood by had a narrow desk with two drawers built on top, but no drawers on the sides. A small white, wooden chair with cushions on the seat and back was pushed under the desk.

I set the paper about my mother down on the desk and moved to the bed, sitting down on the end of it and peering about the room. Everything screamed old fashioned comfort and I hated it. It put me on edge. I wouldn't tell Harding that, because he would probably have a field day thinking about how being raised by a madman meant my sense of comfort was distorted. Instead, I was fairly certain no teenager wanted to be shoved into a room that looked decorated by senior citizens.

I know that I was shaped in part by the Joker. I know there is a fundamental part of a person shaped during childhood, by their caretakers. But I had also been shaped by teachers, friends, and other people in my life. I never thought what the Joker did was right. He's never tried to trick me into thinking he was a good person, or even justified in his actions.

I wondered if he would try to save me.

* * *

AN: I make no excuses for not adding to this for… like.. a year. I'm in university now, but suddenly had down time because of snow. I will eventually finish this story, one day. But I make no promises for frequent updates or anything like that, sorry! I know how annoying that is, I hate it when authors do that to stories I enjoy – but real life unfortunately takes precedent. I will be working the rest of the day, however, on typing up the 12th chapter, which is already written in an old notebook.


	12. Her Death was No Illness

"At what age did you realize what your father was doing was wrong?"

"I've known he was a villain for as long as I can remember. It wasn't ever a secret."

I wished, idly, that the lounge was softer. Or that I could just be given these questions on paper and make answering them slightly less awkward. Laying back on a lounge like I was visiting a therapist was intensely unnerving, and being drilled with stupid questions made me even tenser. Harding had such a specific routine for these sessions. They dragged on, with his scratching pen the only sound apart from our voices. I tried to keep my breathing slow and soft, inaudible despite how tense I was.

"Describe your earliest memory of understanding your father's actions."

"I'm not sure how old I was… I snuck into his workshop and ended up with a face full of laughing gas. I don't remember a lot about it. I couldn't stop laughing and crying. The Joker heard me, and gave me the antidote. It made me extremely tired, and he carried me to my room. As he was putting me to bed I asked him why he made the gas. I told him it hurt. He told me that it was supposed to hurt, and that if I snuck in again he might not have the cure to give me. I understood that he used the gas on people, and that they weren't so lucky to get the antidote. I knew that was awful."

I had been in bed for an entire day after getting hit with that gas. I kept asking why the Joker made it. He hadn't hidden its purpose. It was meant to hurt, and after some tweaking with the formula, it was meant to kill. I tried to explain that it was wrong to hurt others; I had learned that from my Saturday morning cartoons. He had just laughed and told me he wasn't worried about that – he wasn't concerned about what was good or bad, as long as it was worth a laugh.

"Did you ever confront him about his actions?"

I was silent at that question. I had, for the most part, just accepted that the Joker was bad. I had never demanded he change. I had, in middle school, tried to figure out why he was such a bad person.

"When I was twelve we got in a fight over it. I asked him why he had tainted half of Gatham's water supply with that poison Joker Juice. He told me it was for the laughs, but I wouldn't accept it. I just kept asking, over and over again, trying to get a better answer from him. Eventually he got so made he broke two lamps, smashed in our television's screen and left. That was a few months after Harley had started living with us. She spent all night looking for him, but he didn't come back for over a week. When he did come back, the car was full of random things he had stolen and he told Harley to redecorate. We never spoke of it again… until a couple weeks ago when everything fell apart."

"You really expect me to believe all of this?" Harding stood suddenly, his chair clattering back and knocking against his desk. He threw his notebook on the desk with a thud and turned, breathing heavily.

I sat up quickly, but didn't stand or speak.

"You were raised by the most evil to ever haunt Gotham City, and you really expect me to believe he never hurt you in some way? "He turned back to me. He looked furious, his eyes hard and frightening and his face slightly red. Some of his hair had escaped its tie and it fell about his shoulders. "Well?" he demanded.

"I don't know what you want me to say!" I said quickly, softly. I didn't know how to appease him and he was clearly on the verge of doing something that did not bode well for me. "I've told you the truth!"

"You've lived with him for almost all of your life, and he's never so much as slapped you? Threatened you or used you to test his venoms and weapons?" Harding stepped towards me and I moved quickly back on the lounge, my eyes flicking to the door. He stopped and closed his eyes for a few moments.

Harding turned away and strode to the other side of his desk, reaching up and retying his hair. He picked up his notebook and straightened a few bent pages.

"We will continue this session tomorrow," he said softly.

I glanced to the door to see Alyssa there, waiting for me with the same neutral smile she seemed to always wear. I followed her back to the stairs, where she locked the door after I walked into the stairway.

* * *

When Harley woke to a rose on the table beside her bed she frowned. She was certain it hadn't been there when she went to sleep – and she hadn't gotten the chance to talk to Red in a couple of days.

She reached out and picked up a note that sat beside the rose.

"Harley,

See you in a bit. If the kid survived twelve years living with me, it wouldn't be a very good punch line to have her killed by some moron.

-J"

Harley's eyes brimmed with tears and she clutched the rose to her chest with a joyful squeal that had the guards on duty running to her cell.

* * *

"There are too many clubs, Alfred, I need them narrowed down," Batman spoke without looking at the small video screen built into the dash of the Batmobile.

"I'm sorry, Master Bruce, the list I sent you includes of all the clubs in Gotham that have ever been considered hang outs for thugs and criminals."

"I need more than that, Alfred. Look into any clubs that have live singers. The Joker mentioned Miranda's mother was a singer."

There was the faint background sound of Alfred typing into the main computer of the Batcave.

"I'm afraid the list is not much smaller than the original."

"Keep trying, Alfred."

"I will Master Bruce. In the meantime, what am I to tell Master Dick concerning the matter?"

"Tell him he needs to stay there and help you. His affection for Miranda would get in the way, and he hasn't had to do this type of work yet. He doesn't know how to handle the people I'll be seeing."

"Very well, Master Bruce," Alfred's picture flickered and the screen shut down.

Batman turned down a street that would take him into the heart of downtown Gotham, hands tightening on the steering wheel. He had so few leads. How was he supposed to find the right club? Had the Joker been going there before or after he had become the monster he was? The Joker's past was a complete mystery to him. He knew small details of the accident that had caused the Joker's transformation. The time-line was sketchy at best, who knew if Miranda had been conceived before or after the Joker had become the madman he was today.

The thought led him to an even stranger query. The Joker was a madman and a cruel villain, but he had never committed crimes of a sexual nature. Even the perverse jokes the monster made were more jest than threat. What woman would not only have a relationship with him, but leave their child in his sole care?

* * *

The young woman on the stage had a soft voice. Her dress was tight and left very little to the imagination. She was probably no older than eighteen or nineteen. She was hardly a woman, and probably already in debt with the owner of the club.

The Joker knew this world. He didn't reflect on it, or think about how he had come to know it – but it was just a fact that he did. He made his way through the drunks and thugs to the bar.

"Kind of a weak little voice for that stage, isn't it?" he asked the bartender in a low voice.

The man glanced at the stage. "She's nothing compared to what our headliner could do. But when you've got a spot to fill, you fill it the best you can. She shows a lot more skin to make up for her singing. The clientele have mostly stopped complaining." The bartender finally looked at him. "What d'ya want?"

"I need to see Joe."

"Joe the owner? He expecting you?"

"He's never expected me," the Joker looked up and tilted back his hat with a grin. "Why don't you let me in the backroom, Johnny-boy. Your brother Joe and I need to chat."

The bartender went rigid. "Of-Of course," he fumbled with a key ring on his belt and met the Joker at the end of the bar by a door. He quickly unlocked it and pushed it open.

"Thanks, Johnny. I did always like you. But lay of the sweets, eh pal? You're not as young as you once were," the Joker patted his own stomach mockingly as he entered the room.

He made his way down the familiar hall that opened into a small, low-ceiling room. A short, jittery little man sitting at a round table in the middle of the room was sorting through what looked like a folder. A single empty chair sat across from him. It had been a similar scene the first time the Joker had come to this back room to speak to the clubs former owners. Joker stepped into the room fully and the man looked up at him and went wide eyed.

"J-Joker! What are you doing here?" the papers the man was looking at flew about as his hands jerked. "Erhm… what can I do for you?"

"Hello, Jo-Jo," the Joker pulled up a chair across from the man. "Perhaps you've seen in the funny papers, but it seems someone is trying to get at me through my kid, Elle's kid. I need to know where she is."

The man's face drained of all color and she stammered something unintelligible for a moment., trailing off at the Joker's eyes narrowed.

"Maybe you don't quite understand, Jo-Jo. I will find her, whether you tell me willingly or I make you choke it out between the giggles."

"She's dead!" the timid man blurted out. "She's been dead for a couple months. She didn't come to work one night, and Johnny found her in her apartment… I-it was your gash that killed her!"

The Joker stood and flipped the table in a fluid motion. He grabbed the little man by the collar and drug him out of the chair and into his tip-toes.

"I haven't been to this club in twelve years. Twelve years since I found out I not only had a kid, but that the kid was in danger because you were dealing with criminals too powerful for you to stand against. You really think I came back and killed the woman after more than a decade!"

"I'm sorry! Please! What were we supposed to think? She was just sitting there, in a chair, this blank grin across her face! No one else makes their marks laugh before they die! Not like that!"

The Joker let him go with a shove, and the man fell back with a heavy thud.

"What did you do with her apartment?" Joker growled dangerously. "Was she still above the club?

"Yeah," the man nodded quickly. "She was. We just… we just locked the place up. I mean, we couldn't call the cops – and we were sure it was you!" he flinched when the Joker's eyes narrowed again. "We buried her real nice! Had a ceremony and everything, lots of singing and all that. Everyone around here really liked Ell."

"Give me the keys to the apartment," Joker said softly, holding out his hand expectantly.

"What are you gonna do?" the man scrambled up and quickly went through his keys to find the right one. "Who else would want Ell dead? Are they the ones with your daughter?

"I didn't kill Ell. Whoever did managed to replicate my toxin. I can't have a copycat roaming the streets, now can I?" the Joker's hand closed around the man's hand and the key, digging the metal into the man's palm as he pulled him forward and loomed over him. "And if I find out you're not telling me something, and the kid gets hurt, crossing the old mob kings will be the least of your worries."

The Joker left and Joe pulled out a handkerchief, wiping his brow with it as he pulled his chair upright and looked around the mess of the room. The upturned table lay against a wall and the papers were crumpled and torn where they'd been trod on.

When a figure appeared in the hallway Joe tensed, but relaxed when he saw it was his brother.

"You alright, Joe?" John frowned, taking in the haphazard room.

"I'm fine. But I almost pity the bastard that killed Ell. If he hurts that kid, something tells me Joker Juice will be the last thing on the Joker's list of painful deaths."

* * *

AN: Eh? Eh? I really am trying to finish this I swear! There will only be a few more chapters - I've got the ending pretty much all planned out. And I just updated within a week! A record for me, I'm sure, haha.


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